Watching Them
by Hermione-G-Weasley
Summary: Draco observes the trio and offers an insight into his view on them. This is an outtake from my story "When Things Start to Change." It is not necessary to read the other fic first.


A/N: This is an outtake from my story "When Things Start to Change." It is not necessary to read that story to understand this, as this could easily be taken as a one-shot.  
  
This story is told from Draco Malfoy's point of view. In "When Things Start to Change," the view switches among the trio, but there is never any first-person writing. That is where this differs.  
  
I hope you like it, and I would love to hear feedback!  
  
Disclaimer: None of this is mine...  
  
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They're going to regret it someday.  
  
Weasley and Granger, I mean.  
  
They're going to look back and loathe the day they ever decided to become friends with Harry Potter. They're going to wish he'd just died when his parents did.  
  
One day they'll finally see the light.  
  
They don't know it now, of course; right now, they're far too caught up in what they think is a powerful friendship.  
  
Neither of them even knows the meaning of power.  
  
Granger, with all her books and notes... She's one of the stupidest people I've ever seen in my life. So, she can memorize a textbook. So what? If I had no life, I'm sure I could do just as well as she does; most people could. But just because everyone thinks she's so damn smart doesn't mean that she is. If she were really smart, she would realize that being friends with Harry Potter is the stupidest thing one could possibly do.  
  
But she doesn't realize it. Not yet anyway.  
  
And Weasley. Well, ignorance runs in his family, so he really can't help it. And anyway, who can really blame him? Potter is everything that he's ever wanted to be. In some sick, strange, psychoanalytical way, perhaps he thinks he's living out his dreams through his best friend.  
  
What a load of bullshit.  
  
They're idiots, I tell you. The both of them.  
  
But they'll regret it.  
  
Soon enough, they'll see the errors of their ways and regret the day they even lay eyes on the scar-headed freak of nature.  
  
Because he'll be the end of them.  
  
I promise.  
  
The Boy Who Lived will eventually become the Boy Whose Best Friends Died.  
  
He can just add Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley onto the list of names that he's collected of people he's loved and lost.  
  
That's all he's good for- getting people killed. He killed his parents, you know? Of course, all the history books and all the accounts of that day happen to leave that little detail out. Well, perhaps they don't leave it out so much as they change it to make the event seem more grandiose.  
  
They never tell the whole story. They never tell you that Voldemort didn't even want his parents; He just wanted the little brat that somehow managed to escape.  
  
And his parents died. Because of him.  
  
That's where the history books always change it around. They always change the because to a for.  
  
They died for him.  
  
No. It was his fault- his and his alone.  
  
The Baby Who Killed.  
  
That should have been the name given to him.  
  
But no. No one likes to think of it that way. Everyone in the whole bloody world wants to think of him as a hero; they want to paint him in a fabulous light that just oozes heroic and fanatical strength.  
  
And Weasley and Granger buy straight into it.  
  
They hate me, of course. They've hated me from the day that I met them.  
  
And they call me the prejudice one.  
  
Would they have hated me if name had been Harris? Would they have hated me if my name were Jones? Would they have hated me if my name happened to be anything except for what it was?  
  
Probably not. They might not have liked me, but they wouldn't have hated me.  
  
That, of course, is all Weasley's fault. He's the only one who could possibly have known my family and what they stood for. He was, after all, the one who had the nerve to laugh when I first introduced myself to the dynamic duo all the way back on our first train ride to Hogwarts.  
  
He laughed.  
  
He fucking laughed at my name.  
  
As if his is something to brag about. Ha! The Weasleys are the greatest embarrassment to the wizarding world since Frank L. Baum sold out his heritage and wrote that ridiculous book. Like any respectable wizard would stand behind a screen and give people hearts- right. But anyway, back to the Weasleys. They're pathetic.  
  
And I don't think being born last of six Weasley boys gives anyone the right to judge someone else.  
  
He should have kissed the ground that my feet stood on. He should have been awed to be in my presence.  
  
He should not have laughed  
  
But he did. He insulted my family, and no one- no one- insults the Malfoys.  
  
Fucking Weasley.  
  
So, that's what started it all. Potter tried to impress what was probably the first person he'd ever met more pathetic than himself and refused my offer of friendship.  
  
Fucking Potter.  
  
And then when the little bitch got sucked into their perfect little party, she immediately started to hate me, too. She had absolutely no reason to dislike me. I never even spoke to her. Like I would anyway.  
  
Fucking Mudblood.  
  
I hate them.  
  
I really, really hate them.  
  
I hate them so much that half the time I can't even decide which one I hate the most. They're all the scum of the earth. An orphan, a poor boy, and an otherwise friendless swot.  
  
They make the perfect team.  
  
And people think they're going to save the world.  
  
They won't, though. Things will go terribly, horribly wrong. And I'm going to make sure of it.  
  
I'm going to make my father so proud. I'm going to bring even more honor to the Malfoy name.  
  
I'm going to destroy them.  
  
Not first-handedly, of course. If I so much as touched a horrible hair on any of their heads, I'd be expelled from Hogwarts quicker than I could even imagine. And if I'm expelled from school, I won't be able to carry out my plan.  
  
For five bloody years, I've watched every single thing that those three do. They don't know it, of course; they don't know how I sit in class and just observe them. They don't know how I keep my eyes on them from across the courtyard when we have to attend that joke of a class taught by their beastly friend, Hagrid. They don't know any of it.  
  
But I know all of it.  
  
I know all of them.  
  
I know every single dark little secret that they think they've kept hidden away.  
  
I know that Potter blames himself for everything bad in the world far more than anyone else does. In fact, he shares a rather similar view with me; he's one of the few people that actually understands that everything that has happened is, indeed, his fault. I know how he drowns in guilt, and I know how he sometimes wishes he would just die rather than keep having to live as the Boy Who Lived.  
  
I know all about Weasley's jealousy. I saw it firsthand last year during the first weeks of the Triwizard Tournament. It was so blatantly obvious why he and Potter weren't speaking. Potter was doing nothing but increasing his fame, and Weasley was left once again in the dark. Potter has the money, he has the fame, he has the admirers, and he has the whole world thinking of him as something spectacular. Weasley has nothing, he has no money, his clothes are all hand-me-downs from his brothers, nothing he does will ever live up to the things that his older siblings have done, and he will never be anything except Weasley Number Six.  
  
And don't even get me started on Granger. She might have the rest of the school wrapped into the web of illusion that she's so artfully weaved, but I can see right through it. She came to this school as a nobody; she was a Mudblood with no comprehension of anything in the wizarding world. She knew absolutely nothing, and so, to compensate for her complete lack of knowledge, she pretended to know everything. She pretended to be brilliant in everything, while she did nothing at all except read and study to make herself appear more knowledgeable. I've seen her parents only once, the week before our second year began. It was crowded in that bookstore, but I saw the way the way they were; I pegged them instantly because they're not so different from my own parents. Her mother constantly picked at her that day, reaching over and smoothing her skirt, lifting her chin to bring her to a more upright posture, and constantly running her hands through her daughter's hair in an attempt to tame that horrible mess that Granger used to have. And her father was nearly as bad. I watched as Granger started to run toward the back of the bookstore with her friends, but her father placed a single hand on her shoulder and halted her. Proper young ladies shouldn't go running around in public, after all. I know her parents have money, and I would be willing to bet my entire trust fund that their precious only child is nothing more than a trophy daughter.  
  
See? I told you that her parents were a lot like mine.  
  
Of course, her parents are nothing but Muggles, their blood contaminated by their own parents and their daughter's blood contaminated by theirs.  
  
So, we're not the same. She and I aren't.  
  
She's a Mudblood, and my blood is purer than the fucking air outside.  
  
Too bad for her that her filthy blood is going to be her downfall.  
  
There's no room for Mudbloods in our world. People like Granger should have stayed where they belong- in the Muggle world with all the other trash. Poor Granger is going to meet her end because she's no better than her parents.  
  
And that's going to be the start of it all.  
  
I've told my father everything he needs to know to take down the lovely little trio.  
  
I told him to get Granger and the rest would play itself out.  
  
That's all they need to do.  
  
Without Granger, the two idiots wouldn't know what to do. Potter would probably drive himself insane thinking that he'd gotten the little whore murdered. He'd probably be so maddened by it that he would willingly hand himself over to the Dark Lord if for nothing more than to put himself out of his misery.  
  
And Weasley would probably just kill himself and save everyone else the trouble.  
  
Or if we were really lucky, Weasley would kill Potter.  
  
That's where the bribery would come in. If Weasley didn't just Avada Kedavra himself immediately, my father and his friends would probably have enough time to convince him that his best friend was to blame for the demise of his sweet little girlfriend.  
  
And with a promise of money and fame and honor... Weasley would give himself away in a flat second.  
  
And all would be right with the world. The trio that was invincible would destroy each other.  
  
And we would win.  
  
I'm watching them. All the time. I'm just waiting for the exact moment that is going to hit them the hardest. I'm waiting and watching.  
  
And they're going to get it.  
  
Potter will wish he were dead.  
  
Granger will be dead.  
  
And Weasley will be ours.  
  
And my father will be so proud.  
  
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Feedback is appreciated!  
  
To read "When Things Start to Change," please visit the Yahoo! group at: groups.yahoo.com/group/when_things_change/. 


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